


Like Father, Like Son

by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap/pseuds/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe he would regret not being a father to his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Father, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling.

** Like Father, Like Son **

****

 

He shakily slammed the bathroom door behind himself, trying to catch his breath and slow the beating of his heart inside his chest. It thumped loudly, reaching his ears, silencing the screams that could be heard throughout the entire manor.

 

Draco Malfoy was breathing heavily as he slid against the door and dropped his head in his hands, trying to control the ragged breathing and shaking that was coming from his body. He couldn’t stand another moment downstairs. His childhood was over and the enjoyment of summer was a fleeting thought.

 

He was weak.

 

He was weak just like his father.

 

When it was late at night and he knew that his mother was asleep and all the other inhabitants left Malfoy Manor he curled up in his bed, holding his knees to his chest like a child and he let the tears flow because he was afraid.

 

He had no one to go to for guidance. His mother did not understand. He needed to protect her. She needed protection but who was going to protect him? So he would cry in the middle of the night and whisper:

 

_Daddy, I need you. Daddy…_

 

No. He didn’t need him. He did _not_ need him. Draco knew how to take care of himself. His father was never proud of him, never happy with anything that he did. He would fulfill his task and bring his family up in the ranks and bring back the honor they desperately needed. He did not need his father. He would do it himself.

 

He was a Slytherin. He was a sneering, smirking, snarling Slytherin. All those things came natural to him except one trait, one characteristic, one emotion he could not perfect but it didn’t matter because he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t smile. He wasn’t happy. He didn’t know what happiness was.

 

_“Had to bribe the potions master just to get on the Quidditch team.”_

 

Why couldn’t he be more like Potter? He wasn’t insulting him. He wasn’t insulting anyone. He was insulting himself because they were not different. They were the same.

 

The bathroom was dark. The only light that was coming inside the room trickled from the stars and the half-moon through a small window. He blindly walked lightly towards the sink, trying to lessen the noise of the soles of his shoes against the white tiled floor.

 

He turned on the tap, water flowing out quickly. He didn’t bother rolling up the sleeves to his white shirt. Draco plunged his hands into the scalding water, gritting his teeth in pain as his skin made contact.

 

He winced, trying to make the voices yelling in his head to disappear. The water was hot and steam was rising from it, making the mirror in front of him hard to see his reflection. He stared into the oval mirror, grey eyes looking back at him, murky and cold. They were really filled with fear and he tried to swallow the fear down as he dunked his head into the water again.

 

_“…Azkaban…your father is in Azkaban…Draco…Draco stop…listen to me…we must be strong…you must be strong…I need you…”_

The water was burning his face and he hoped that it would make it turn red and his skin peel off so he could transform into a new person. A person that didn’t have the white skin, grey eyes and blonde hair that his father had. He could hear the cries of his mother, see in his head the way she cried weakly in front of him, begging him to hold her, to stay with her and never leave her. _Stay safe_. _We must stay safe._ He did not know what staying safe meant.

 

The Dark Mark on his arm itched his skin.

****

_“Draco, listen to me, listen to your mother. We must stay strong. We need to be safe. Bella…Bellatrix…I have already lost my sisters and my husband. I mustn’t lose you too. Promise me, promise me you’ll stay safe…”_

It was like a rash that just wouldn’t go away. No matter how hard Draco tried to conceal it, it was there, _always_. His father had been so proud, a rare moment in their relationship.

 

_“You’re a Death Eater now, son, make your family proud…”_

Proud? How was he supposed to make his family proud when all his father did was make his family miserable? He was always off doing something for their _Lord_. Their _Master_. Who was Draco supposed to really listen to? Who was he supposed to look up to and follow? Lucius or The Dark Lord?

 

He held his breath as his head sunk deeper into the water and blindly grabbed for a bar of soap with his hands. His fingers gripped it and he dropped it into the water, making it a white murky soapy mess, trying to rub his face off.

 

_“Do whatever he says…take care of your mother…”_

How could he take care of her?

 

He exhaled and then inhaled the soapy water, removing his head from the sink abruptly and spilling the contents that were inside his mouth, coughing from the taste violently.

 

How could he take care of his poor fragile mother? His mother who doted on him his entire life and loved him more than his father had ever had. Somehow Lucius was still his _hero_. Lucius was who Draco wanted to be when he was older. He wanted his father’s status. He wanted to be able to enter a room and make the hairs on the back of everyone’s neck stand-up.

 

Lucius had been _someone_ and had quickly become _no one_.

 

Draco lived in fear. He was starting his sixth year at Hogwarts and he had been given an impossible task, kill Albus Dumbledore. His father would have sneered at the name and patted his son on the back. What an honor he would have said, what an honor. Potter would be next. Potter would crumble and be oh-so-sad because that’s who he was. He broke easily and had plenty of people to help pick him up afterwards.

 

Draco had no one. The one person he wanted to talk to was going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life. His mind would be consumed by madness soon enough and maybe he would regret everything he did.

 

Maybe he would regret not being a father to his son.

 

He coughed. His throat felt rough and dry and his face and eyes burned from the hot water and the vigorous scrubbing from the bar of soap. The bathroom was foggy and he could not see his reflection in the mirror.

 

_“He’s not coming back! Don’t you understand that, Mum? Don’t you? I don’t care. I don’t care anymore!”_

_“Keep your voice down Draco, please. They’ll hear you…Bella…she’s always listening. Draco, stop, it…I said STOP IT! No! Not my wedding picture—please!”_

He had burned every single one of their family photos. He did not want to be reminded of his father. He did not want to stare into the smiling face of his parents at their wedding that quickly turned into grim, cold frowns as the years passed on. Lucius was a failure. He had failed as a husband. He had failed as a father.

 

Draco smiled grimly; he had probably failed as a son too. He could remember the disdainful face his grandfather used to give his father whenever they were in the same room. He could not retrieve the prophecy, he had failed his mission, and he was a failure as a Death Eater too.

 

There were no goodbyes. There was no begging of forgiveness. It was all in Draco’s mind. Like his father actually cared for them, cared about what happened to them. Their house was being run over by Death Eater’s. He should have felt right at home with them roaming around and the Dark Lord, his _hero_ , the man he was supposed to look up to and do his bidding was gracing his presence in _his_ house.

 

All Draco felt was empty.

 

Because he knew he would be a failure too.

 

Like father, like son.

 

He took his wet sleeve and wiped at the fog on the bathroom mirror until his face appeared. He stared coldly at his reflection. He did not need the photographs of Lucius Malfoy to remember him because all he had to do was stare into the mirror to see the cold grey eyes, the white-blondish hair and the sharp features.

 

_I destroyed every picture of you I could find, Dad. All I want now is to remember your face.*_

Draco screamed at his reflection, at his father, and smashed his hands into the mirror, listening to the way the glass broke and the feeling of pain that filled his hands, blood trickling from the cuts.

 

He would be no hero. He would not fulfill his task. He would live a life filled with shame. The person he looked up to he had become.

 

He did not know whom Draco Malfoy was or if he had ever really existed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This was for the postsecret challenge and the line: I destroyed every picture of you I could find, Dad. All I want now is to remember your face, belongs to PostSecret. Thanks for reading. Don’t forget to review to let me know what you think.


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